


Kaleidoscope Heart

by sheron



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Civil War Fix-It, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, No Accords Discussion, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Civil War (Marvel), Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-16 19:02:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11259036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheron/pseuds/sheron
Summary: Two years after their Civil War, the Avengers are reconciled, and Steve and Tony have made it work together. But it seems even as they look to the future, the past isn't done with them yet.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after the events of the Civil War movie, in the future where the accords differences are mostly resolved, the Avengers have reassembled and defeated intergalactic threats, and Steve and Tony are together romantically. There'll be about three chapters. I wrote the story to distract myself from the angstier post-CW fixes and tried to stay firmly in the category of 'mostly fluff'!

 

They are in a sports bar when the newsreel comes on. Steve is digging into another order of greasy fries at their little corner table, slouching a little, relaxed. He looks progressively more comfortable as their date out in town goes on. His team has won the baseball match earlier, he's been telling Tony minute details about the next match-up in the series, and Tony's been watching him talk. He hasn't been bored at all: cataloging the way Steve's nose scrunches up when he is discussing referee calls, the way he waves his hands and almost knocks the ketchup off the table, catches it, and looks guilty anyway as he puts it back. And sincerely asks Tony if he is boring him.

"Not at all," Tony says honestly. Steve's passion rivets him. Tony couldn't tell you exactly why any of that baseball stuff matters, but he has heard every word. Steve obviously knows his stuff. Cares. (Tony loves that he cares. It's his favourite Steve quality and he never wants to see it fade.) "The Mets. Next Saturday. Go on." He props his chin on his hand, settling in for the long-haul with a smile. This is usually when their friends roll their eyes at them, but Tony doesn't give a damn. They've paid for their sappy moments in spades. 

Steve gives him a tiny pleased smile and looks about ready to launch into another tale, when his face freezes as he is looking over Tony's shoulder. He grows pale, and all of Tony's vague feelings of contentment evaporate in an instant as he twists around to face whatever danger's got Steve so spooked. The man doesn't even flinch at the idea of jumping off buildings, so it's gotta be serious to visibly shake Steve. Tony's hand is already on his watch, mid-gesture to initiate a defensive protocol, when he recognizes the still-frame frozen on the news screen above the bar, the date on it, December 16th. The sound is too low to hear but Tony knows the scene at half a glance. 

The still looks poor in quality. Worse than the tape he'd seen that was subsequently destroyed in the explosions from their fight.

The anchor caption states: "No Accident! The Truth Behind the Assassination of the Legendary Genius, Howard Stark". They don't mention Maria at all. 

His world tilts a little. What do you know. Zemo had managed a poor quality cell-phone recording that he'd uplinked from Siberia.

The disturbing content warning flashes on the screen. This content is unsuitable for children.

If Tony were to laugh now, he would never stop. He glances back at Steve as if to say, hey, can you believe this is happening? Next to him, Steve is pale and horrified, looking at Tony like he'd like to swaddle him up in blankets and take him away from this place, somewhere safe. It's too much like back then. Tony turns back to the screen, the freeze frame. His perfect memory replays it for him, sharper than on the news.

He watches the car crash again. He knows what's coming. (The hostess will be so disappointed if he throws up all over her pretty setting.)

"Don't watch," Steve says at his side in a pleading low voice, "Tony."

Underneath the table, out of sight of any other guests, Tony feels Steve's hand wrap around his. He holds on to it; feels Steve's fingers squeeze his gently and tug to get his attention.

"Tony, please."

They'd been through this, nearly two years ago now. Tony turns to Steve, who's got honest to God tears in his eyes while his own are dry; and how ironic is that? That's what gets Tony to snap out of whatever fugue state he is in. It's not just him. "Let's get out of here," Tony says.

Steve looks over his shoulder towards the restaurant entrance. There's a commotion outside that Tony knows well, but Steve still finds difficult to predict. Of course, they would want a statement from the heir to Howard's legacy. Tough. "Get us to the car?" Tony says. 

Steve makes an excellent stand-in for a bodyguard; it's one of the things that got Pepper to unclench about having Happy travel with her, leaving Tony on his own. He feels his phone buzz in his pocket. And that would be Pepper. He ignores it. Contrary to popular belief, he knows exactly where his limits are.

He pulls his sunglasses on as they leave, and even so the flashes are blinding. Somehow, Steve's broad shoulders and square jaw part the throng of the reporters enough for him to open the door for Tony, and soon they are both encased in metal and shaded windows. 

He wishes he was driving, but it's probably best they've got a limo since there's a new ache behind his eyes. His glasses land on the nearby seat with a bounce when he takes them off to squeeze the bridge of his nose. The driver's new, he catches Tony's eyes in the mirror with a look of entirely too much sympathy, but professionalism soon takes over and he pulls on a straight face, raising the privacy partition without a word. Once the car gets on the road back towards the Tower, Tony slides his hand down to the leather seat between them and catches one of Steve's hands again. He stares straight ahead while Steve slowly lifts their hands and places a soft kiss on Tony's knuckles.

"Is this another one of your apologies?" He silently acknowledges a smidgen of guilt for the snarky tone, but not enough to take the question back.

A side-look. "It's another one of my worrying about you."

"Well, stop it," Tony says, despite the traitorous warmth spreading through his chest. His memory is an infinity mirror: back when his parents died, back when he found out, found out the truth, now.

"Nope," Steve says with a pop of his full lips, and sets their hands down on his warm thigh, stroking Tony's thumb with his own, a mute offering of comfort.

Which just gives Tony an idea. It's a way to wipe his mind clean.

By the time they near the Tower, he is straddling Steve's lap and Steve forgot to demur or do anything other than kiss back enthusiastically, pushing up into Tony. He is hard, it's gonna be hell walking like this, but the memory of the road crash scene recedes from his mind's eye for a while, to be replaced with the immediate sensation of the firm planes of Steve's body, his hot mouth, the way his hands slide up Tony's back, under the shirt.

He looks down at Steve's upturned face. All that pale skin. Nobody could look at him and think he did anything other than make out for the past ten minutes. Tony is almost tempted to just let him get out of the car like this, mouth flushed and red, but ― this is Steve.

Tony runs a thumb across his upper lip, wiping the spit there. Their noses are almost touching, and he smells the tomatoes from the ketchup and fries Steve was eating earlier.

"You might want to get presentable, soldier, before you let anyone else see you like this," Tony tells him, and absurdly can't resist placing one more short peck onto his mouth.

Steve's brow creases and he turns his head to look at himself in the reflection of the car's tinted windows, but even the super soldier eye-sight isn't enough to see what Tony's seeing. Steve's flushed with it, radiating caring emotion and heat; a heady combination on anyone, let alone the epitome of human perfection Tony's got sitting between his thighs. It's all his. That heat pressing against his own groin is for him. He doesn't want anyone else to see Steve like this, not today when another veil of privacy has been stripped away from him. It's a raw, possessive feeling, and he doesn't like himself when he gets like this. It's a little bit disgusting to see himself so clearly. He is too greedy. He wants, and wants and wants. 

Tony slides back to his own part of the backseat and tries to calm down. The nice thing about a secure private garage on site and a private car is they can be alone for a little longer, but Tony knows eventually the rest of the Avengers will find them if they don't come upstairs. There's an elevator connected with all the floors up to the penthouse suite that Steve now shares with him.

Tony doesn't intend to stop at the common areas, he is heading to the workshop. It's how he copes, Steve already knows this. They shouldn't have to have an argument. 

Still, he finds his shoulders tense up as they each press a button: Steve for the communal floor, Tony for the floor beneath their suite, where he's got all his toys and Iron Man suits. Even when the elevator doors slide open silently, he is still expecting Steve to ask after him or try to talk him out of working. Try to get him to be among friends, all well intentioned and exactly what Tony doesn't want. 

But Steve does neither, he just walks out and looks back at Tony.

"I'll come up later," Steve floats it as information for him to make use of as he likes. Behind Steve, there's a TV playing, and he can hear voices of the other teammates.

"Yeah, okay." Then the doors slide shut and he is free to slump back against the wall. He just hates the thought of Natasha or Sam or, hell, even Clint on a video link from all the way back on his farm, looking at him like he needs their sympathy. The anticipation of their pain on his behalf makes his skin crawl; all he wants is to be allowed space to put himself together among his computers and his bots before he has to deal with their emotions spilling all over him, shaking him apart.

Let Steve deal with it. He volunteered to be the brave one.

Another two missed calls from Pepper before she puts in her override and Friday lets her through. Tony always forgets to remove that override now that they aren't a _them_ anymore. Anyway, Pepper worries.

"Are you okay?" are the first words he hears. Her mouth is pinched tight. It's 3 am in Paris, where she phoned from, but she still has makeup on and looks like she is working from her stylish hotel room.

"Not like I didn't know about it," Tony deflects, turning to the other screen where he can open up a console. His hands fly over the keys while he listens to Pepper tell him she is sorry, that it'll be alright, and that she's got the company stuff covered.

"What stuff?" he throws in, in between the torrent of her words, eyes still on the scrolling logs. The leaked video bounced around on different servers for a while, compressed but unencrypted and leaving a copy at each location, but it originated from a server in Europe. An amateur job, no attempts to hide. He can't be the first person who noticed this little hideout on the network, but Tony sets Friday to break in anyway.

He looks up when he realizes he hadn't heard Pepper's answer. At his glance, she sighs and looks guilty.

"You've got enough on your plate."

Oh, he is so done with people protecting him by keeping things from him. " _What stuff?_ "

Pepper purses her mouth. "Okay, I wasn't going to say anything, but I've been getting requests for interviews. I didn't think anything of it at first, but some of the prepared questions I got concern Stane." She gives a significant look over the video call.

"Stane? What?" They'd done that song and dance when Natasha made SHIELD's files public. Everyone knew there was no plane crash. 

"That's what I thought, random interest story. But with this video out there, with the way it makes us look..."

"Makes us look?" Tony is not proud of how he is parroting her statements back as questions.

"We knew." Pepper stares at him sorrowfully as though she is apologizing for what she has to say. As though it personally hurts her to tell him this. He always admired her ability to power through and say what she has to anyway. "How Howard and Maria...how your parents died. We knew for years and we never made it public."

"So what! That's personal. Isn't that something I get to decide?" Tony kicks away from the desk in frustration, because he can already anticipate what she'll say. 

" _You_ do."

"Right. Company. CEO. Shareholders."

She nods, almost reluctantly. "My first responsibility is to the company. Two previous CEOs both died in accidents that turned out to be not so accidental? It's a conspiracy theorist's wet dream. The board is putting pressure on me to ensure this renewed interest doesn't splash over into consequences for the upcoming business deals, for company's stock."

Tony ignores all that, because he's figured as much out before the words finished leaving his mouth. "But there's no new investigation about Stane?" (At least since then nobody wonders why Tony didn't attend Stane's funeral. He hates funerals.) He returns to the logs scrolling on his other screen. The server that the leaked phone video came from was bought and paid for by Zemo months before their fateful encounter in Siberia. The video was uploaded on the day that's burned in Tony's memory as much as he'd like to expunge it. Zemo had it setup on a timed release since then, possibly as insurance in case of eventual capture.

Pepper is frowning. "Not as far as I know. Like I said, I'm handling it, Tony." Her eyes say what she won't say out loud over the phone: they killed Stane together, and the optics of self-defense while true, aren't great when they've been covering up his death for years. The revelation had caused enough of a furor before, during the SHIELD take-down. With the new video tape of Howard and Maria's murder it just casts a dark light over Stark Industries ownership as a whole. "I just wanted to warn you, in case you get any interest from the media."

"Oh, there's interest. There was a full entourage at the bar today, during our....date." He stumbles over the word. Talking about your current lover with your ex: awkward.

Pepper frowns, but she doesn't remark on the idea of Steve and a date. "We should put out a statement."

Tony lets her go off on that angle for a while. She has always had a better grip on the PR aspect, even before she made CEO. (One of the best decisions of his life.)

Her tone over the video link sharpens. "You're going to be there for the board meeting Monday? As head of R&D you can't miss it."

"Of course." It's days away, he doesn't make plans that far ahead. There could be an alien invasion. He'd like there to be an alien invasion. Just a small one. "No rest for the wicked." Self-pity must come through in his tone because Pepper's face softens again with that motherly affection.

"I wouldn't insist if I didn't think it was necessary. Especially right now, with all this. I know it's difficult."

Yeah.

She asks him to take care of himself before she signs off. 

Tony has about a thousand different thoughts swirling in his head, like shards of colored glass in a kaleidoscope, reassembling into random patterns. He pushes them away. He can forget the rest of the world when he is in his lab.

After a while of working on the proof of concept new propulsion for his gloves his breaths even out, his thoughts stop going in circles. The work centers him. It's been his lifeline to sanity on numerous occasions. Much later, when the servos in his hands begin to blur in front of his eyes, he knows he is too tired to keep going and surrenders to the inevitable, heading to their bedroom.

He walks in to see Steve passed out on their bed, on the covers, sitting up high against the pillows at his back, the book he had open sliding onto his lap. It's such a domestic picture that Tony instantly wants to slide in next to him, curl up close and stay like that. Just be. No company, no video tapes, no past. Just him and Steve. 

Yawning, he goes to brush his teeth in the adjoining bathroom and changes into the black tee and shorts for bed. He tries to be quiet, but by the time he comes back to their bedroom, Steve is rubbing his eyes awake.

"Coming to bed?" he says glancing at the four am on the bedside alarm clock. He looks restless.

"You didn't have to wait up."

"Lost track of time," Steve motions at the book in his lap, and doesn't appear to be lying. "But I'm glad I'm up. I've been thinking about what you said in the car. Can I ask you something?"

The words don't actually cause Tony any anxiety they might have in his past relationships. He and Steve have definitely seen the worst of each other and if Steve's still here, then nothing that Tony might have said in the car over could possibly make him rethink this. That kind of certainty is relieving in some ways, and frightening in others because then _Tony_ is the only one stopping Tony.

Tony motions for him to go on while he grabs a water bottle from the table.

"Do you mind if the public knows about us?" Steve fiddles with the book in his lap before closing it and setting it aside.

Tony looks up from unscrewing the cap. Screwing. Cap. Heh. 

He needs sleep.

Steve's got that determined look which means he has already made up his mind about something. 

"Why would I mind?" He has thought about it and has put the ball in Steve's court. Let Steve decide when he is ready to jump out of the closet for the media circus.

"You're the one with shares and shareholders," Steve waves his hand as if to encompass all of Tony's various commitments. Which, fair. Steve expects him to act responsibly, even though Tony really, really isn't the guy for the job.

"As opposed to you, with the Avengers reputation riding on your broad and well-equipped to handle that sort of thing shoulders?"

Steve snorts. "Our shoulders. It's not just me."

Tony doesn't feel the immediate need to correct him. Besides. He takes a slow sip of water. "What brought this on?"

Steve runs his hands flat up and down his thighs.

"I don't see any reason to keep 'us' secret. We might want to get married someday and―Tony?"

Tony coughs to clear his windpipe. That water went down all wrong.

Steve rolls his eyes a little, not looking upset, but maybe a touch exasperated, "But obviously not anytime soon, since the idea makes you react like that." He crosses his arms on his chest.

"No, I―uh," Tony says, eloquently. He sets the bottle of water down, glancing at the clock. Four am but he is fairly sure he is not dreaming. He recovers with, "You caught me by surprise! I'm not opposed to the idea, of, um, maybe getting married someday?" How did that become a question? 

"Well, great," Steve says wryly, "since, I'm _for_ the idea of maybe getting married someday."

"You are."

"This can't seriously be a surprise, Tony," Steve says, motioning for him to come closer with his hand and, wrapped around his finger, Tony comes over, spellbound. "We love each other. Things are going well between us. It's legal now. So. Someday is not such a stretch, is it?" He puts his arms around Tony's waist, and butts his chin into Tony's lower chest, looking up at him with true-blue eyes fanned with thick blond eyelashes. Steve also knows exactly what he is doing.

It's a sign of progress that Steve is able to say the 'L' word out loud, rather than some symbolic expression of attachment and need. Demonstrative with verbal affection he isn't, and it took Tony months of saying the four letter word before Steve broke down enough to admit what he'd been confessing to Tony in touch and looks for ages. The fact is, it _has_ been months, and things have been going smoother than Tony had expected at the start, and he has gotten used to having Steve's back just as Steve had his earlier today. So maybe Steve's not off his head thinking along the general lines people do in relationships like this. Tony just wouldn't know. He's been trying to cool things down to match the pace he imagined Steve would be comfortable with and _still_ overshooting the mark, being overeager. And here Steve was apparently thinking ahead.

"What made you ask?" He sinks his hands into Steve's hair, running his fingers through the soft, golden threads already mussed from sleep.

Steve angles his head so his cheek is pressed to Tony's chest, nose mushed into Tony's t-shirt. He speaks softly, "Days like this remind me not to wait too long."

They stay in silence, with Tony brushing his hair for a while, watching the top of Steve's head, his heart heavy with tenderness.

"Is it any comfort that I don't see myself marrying anyone else?" Tony blurts out, making Steve tilt his head back again to look at him. Tony doesn't physically kick himself for the bemused look on Steve's face, but it's a close thing.

"Just think about it," Steve says eventually, when his eyes uncross. 

"Can I think about it after we have celebratory sex?"

"We're celebrating?" Steve quirks a sharp brow.

"You semi-proposed to me in a hypothetical future. This is literally the highest stage I've ever reached in a relationship where both parties were sober. Also I want to do _this_."

He pushes Steve back (Steve lets him, they are kidding no one) and proceeds to climb on top of him intending to enthusiastically show Steve what he's learned in those months of being together. He knows _all_ the sensitive spots now, it's great. And Steve knows all of his, which he doesn't mind in the least. He's got to show Steve his appreciation. So he kisses Steve, runs his hands into Steve's soft hair again and he thinks about what a wonderful mess his life has been that it has brought him right here into this moment, into the arms of this man.

And maybe it _is_ too much, to think about their future with everything that lies in their past, because the heat leaves his blood and his kisses dwindle and soon he is just pressing his cheek against the smoothness of Steve's, lying on top of him like a limpet, unmoving, breathing heavily into Steve's shoulder. 

Steve's hands pause and resume running up his back. Up and down. 

Tony has a wild unreasonable desire to jump off the bed and go invent something cool, while at the same time never wanting to leave. It's pathetically non-sexual given the way he is pressed up against Steve's very hot, very charged body. Instead of having passionate, romantic sex (the way they were certainly going to before his emotions screwed them over), Tony is sucking up all the comfort and warmth that Steve offers so freely. He doesn't want to stop holding on to Steve or for Steve to stop touching him. Steve does love him, after all, which sort of means he has to put up with Tony being selfish. 

Steve rubs his shoulders, hands circling his back as they lie there in a totally awkward pose: Steve on his back on the bed and Tony― Well. It's best if he doesn't think about what he is doing in detail. 

"I'm sorry you're in pain, sweetheart," Steve whispers into his hair.

All the petting and kissing his hair that Steve's responsible for is what makes Tony lose his mind a little and do the next-level embarrassing thing he can feel bad about tomorrow: blindly find one of Steve's hands and turn it, to intertwine their fingers together. He has seen the gesture in some romantic movie or something and deep down always thought it wouldn't feel like anything (was afraid it wouldn't feel like anything) but to his relief he can empirically observe that it's more than just another way to combine their hands together. The nerves all through his fingers and palm revel in the connection. Steve hums, a cross between a purr and a sigh, clearly approving. Tony's heart twangs with satisfaction. He knows Steve's the romantic one, it makes sense he'd like this mushy stuff. Tony doesn't need any of it, but he'll have to remember to do more cutesy stuff like this with Steve, to make him feel good, the way Steve makes Tony feel. Tony's lips quirk up against Steve's neck before he falls into a deep yawn. Later, he'll make it up to Steve for jerking him around like a yo-yo. They'll weather the storm together.

Eventually his hands go slack and his breathing evens out. Then he falls asleep like that.  


 

* * *

 

In the morning, Steve somehow manages to pick himself up and go on his regular morning run at dawn. Tony tries to help him overcome his ridiculous discipline with a copious application of limbs, gets laughed at for his trouble, and Steve still leaves the bed before Tony is remotely coherent. At some point much later, Tony lies awake thinking of how to attack this day, before shuffling down to the common areas for coffee and breakfast. It's for the best if he sees the team before he officially heads out to work.

It's awkward. Everyone on the team knew how things went down before yesterday: there's been a cleansing sort of shouting match at some point or another to get everyone's feelings out in the open. (There was a lot to get out in the open.) The murder of his parents orchestrated by Hydra is no news to the other Avengers, but Tony knows first hand how different that abstract knowledge is to seeing something with your own eyes. The whole world has seen Howard die now, has seen the mess of his broken face, has heard Maria's dark scream for her husband. Tony will never unsee or unhear any of those little details, he's had to learn to move past it. 

"It was some kind of a timed release," he says into the dead air of the room as he saunters over to coffee. There's no hot water. Of course. He has to do everything himself. "Insurance for Zemo straight from prison. In case we didn't get the impact the first time around."

He doesn't quite manage to hold Natasha's eyes as they follow him, and busies himself with boiling water for his coffee.

"It's smart," he adds as the silence stretches unbearably loud.

"The video's gone viral almost immediately, even before the major news outlets picked up on it." Sam says, his VA councilor voice, calm and steady. No sudden moves, Tony. He hates being treated like an unexploded bomb.

Wanda hands him the container with sugar, which for the two of them is downright friendly. Not that Tony drinks his coffee anything but black. At least the kid is trying.

"The major damage is contained to the blow-back against Barnes," Tony says, searching for coffee on the shelves, irritation spiking when he doesn't find it. There's a part of his brain that's entirely occupied with an internal dialogue about the idea that Steve floated last night, about their future. Another part of him is mentally tinkering with the schematics of Iron Man suit, eager to get back to it when he gets a chance. Most of him is focused on the problem that concerns all of them, because it's his responsibility to clean up this mess. Stuff like this clings to Tony, if it wasn't Zemo's tape it would be some other scandal. It's his responsibility to not let it affect the team, the company, his relationship with Steve. His thoughts roll over to the memory of Steve sitting on the bed last night, wiping his sweaty palms against his shorts as he talked about marriage. With an effort, Tony yanks them back on target. "The Presidential pardon should take care of the legal side of things; he needs to keep lying low a bit longer."

"Don't worry about James," Natasha says easily. "How are you doing?"

What's that supposed to mean? "Fine."

"Fine fine, or _Fine_?" she insists.

"I don't know. Could you rephrase that in adult terms?"

"Why would that help?" she asks pointedly.

"I believe Ms. Romanoff is concerned about the well-being of the team, and you in particular," Vision says. 

Tony rolls his eyes over to Viz, just holding back a wince at the frankness. Even with the leg-up of JARVIS inside him, Vision doesn't quite notice the subtleties of human interaction every time, such as a magnificent _Keep Off_ sign Tony's been radiating the entire time he's been in the room.

That's when Steve walks off the elevator, fresh from his run. His shirt is sticking to his abs, and he's got a furrowed brow that clears when he sees them. There's a part of Tony that almost doesn't want to watch him come in, but he can't very well look away. Everything sort of goes soft and fuzzy around the edges with Steve there, like a beacon calling him. Then Tony sees the familiar bag in Steve's hands.

"Is that―?"

Steve looks down and glances up again with a sweet smile. "I...yeah. I picked some up during my morning run."

"You ran _all the way_ to the other end of Manhattan―" Sam starts to say incredulously, but Tony finishes the sentence:

"For me?"

Steve's face turns a touch sheepish, but he walks over with a pleased little grin. "I know you like the coffee beans from that shop best." He sets the bag next to Tony. Steve runs his fingers up Tony's arm, as though checking he is alright by touch, eyes soft. If a fountain of affection and kindness existed in nature it would exist as the expression on Steve's face.

Tony is entirely oblivious to any barfing motions being made off to his side. He is looking at Steve who might sort of maybe want to get married someday. His boyfriend, who got up at an ungodly hour on basically zero sleep, all Tony's fault, and still thought to try to fix things, because that's how Steve functions. When he knows that someone needs him, Steve will turn the world over to help, won't rest until he does. All of that attention, all of that amazing focus is currently turned on Tony. Maybe there's no way even he can fuck up something so good, so pure.

His eyes prickle and, yes, he might hate Steve a little for making their friends think he is getting emotional over the coffee ― even the best coffee this side of Atlantic ― but all he can think is:

"You are so fucking perfect." His voice has gone soft, but Steve's right next to him to hear the words meant only for him.

Steve swallows. "I'm―I'm not."

Of course, someone good like Steve wouldn't think so, he probably agonizes over every decision he has to make. But Tony knows the truth down to his bones, has known it practically from the moment he's laid eyes on him, however long it took to admit that was real. Steve is only a man, and he makes mistakes, but he works harder than anyone to make up for them and that's more beautiful to Tony than if an actual angel descended from the sky. _Because_ Steve is just a man. Seeing Steve before him now, every chiseled muscle glistening with sweat, the light that's practically shining from within him, it's a little bit like radiation that sets off a genetic mutation down on a cellular level inside Tony. With every moment of exposure to Steve he is closer to who he wants to be, like a search algorithm sent down the right path; like he found his yellow brick road, from that book his mom used to like. It's like plants with the sunlight, or whatever, and Tony's been alone in a cold, dark cave without that sunshine and he wants to reach towards it. He wants it so badly.

As selfish as Tony can be, he could possibly deny himself this except for Steve looking like he doesn't know how to back off, like Steve wants to be reached for and needed, even with the crushing onslaught that is the only way Tony knows how to be.

He knows how unwavering Steve is. He can't fight against what Steve wants, too.

He throws his hands around Steve's neck even as Steve meets him half-way, leaning into a kiss. Tony is both entirely present in this moment, every part of him that is touching Steve burning with want, and at the same time he is half-unconscious, like someone has clocked him a good one on the temple.

Later, when they part, stumbling and breathing harshly, Tony remembers the rest of the room. They find it empty. Tony has no memory of their friends leaving, gone since the moment they'd been transported into an entirely separate world together, just by looking into each other's eyes. He shivers. 

The only way he knows to deal with things that are a bit scary is to jump in with both feet.  


 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Steve's got some artsy _Doors Open_ events to attend around Manhattan on Sunday, Tony's got Monday's board meeting to prepare for. He spends the rest of the morning in his workshop, pouring over the files Pepper forwarded the night before, checking off all the questions the board might ask until he doesn't want to be working on the presentation anymore. It feels like he is caught in a vicious cycle of edit and revise. The temptation of his armor, standing silently in the corner of his lab is too strong to resist. 

This is why he has an actual office, so he doesn't try to do boring shit in his workshop. It never works. By the time Rhodey finds him there, his music is blaring and he is elbows deep in the mechanical joins of Iron Man's shoulder plates, soldering, the board meeting entirely forgotten.

Of course, Rhodey would show up. Tony's been mostly ignoring his texts. Five different people have texted him a link that morning to ask if he'd seen the video. They are very sorry, etc, etc.

Tony hasn't wanted to watch it again since last night at the bar. He has been over those moments entirely too many times thanks to B.A.R.F. and there is nothing in that video that could shock him anymore. But of course, Rhodey looks at him like he is a fragile delicate flower while he stands at the entrance of the lab.

Tony makes a motion with his head for him to enter. His hands are occupied, and he has a piece of solid wire solder between his teeth.

Silently, Rhodey bypasses DUM-E and goes to make them both fresh coffee, and waits him out. Eventually, Tony finishes the soldering job and frees his mouth.

"I thought your tune-up is next week," Tony says.

Rhodey rolls his eyes. Now that he has technologically augmented lower extremities, he is a regular customer at Tony's workshop. Unlike Tony, who would have avoided these check-up appointments like a virulent plague, Rhodey is the soul of conscientiousness. Part of the reason his rehab has gone so well is he works like a man possessed to get back to fighting fit. He gives Steve a run for his money as far as dedication to routine is concerned; it's probably a military thing that Tony is not equipped to understand.

"You don't call, you don't text," Rhodey says, handing Tony his coffee cup, black just the way he likes. Rhodey peers down at his cup and takes a sniff. "Is this the stuff from that place?"

"Yes," Tony says, pleased. Smelling that aromatic coffee now reminds him of Steve's gesture that morning, and their kiss, which still sends pleased shivers down his spine.

" _Nice_ ," Rhodey approves. He sips the heavenly nectar with appropriate noises alongside Tony for a moment. Eventually though, he says carefully, "So how's it going?"

"Great." Tony sips his coffee.

Rhodey gives him a weird look. "You sound like you actually mean that, which is kind of...unexpected."

"What, you thought you'd find me moping around the place because some asshole aired more of my family's dirty laundry in public? Please."

"It's some pretty massive laundry." Rhodey has that awfully sincere look pointed his way, like he expects Tony to crumple and have a good cry on his shoulder. The thing is, last night the unfairness of it all had been getting to Tony in a major way. It had felt like a literal weight on his chest, crushing him, inescapable. Since then, though, he's adjusted. Sharing the burden with Steve made a remarkable difference, balanced him out. Last night Steve had been there for him in a way that, frankly, made his toes tingle even now.

Rhodey shakes his head and takes another sip of his steaming hot coffee.

"So Steve proposed," Tony blurts out.

After a slow blink, Rhodey nearly sprays the coffee as he gasps for air and coughs.

"See! That's what I said," Tony says, supremely satisfied.

"Holy shit." Rhodey looks at him wide-eyed. "He actually popped the question?"

"Well." And alright, Tony might have gotten ahead of himself there. But Steve isn't the kind to float an idea of a future together if it isn't playing heavily on his mind. And he asked Tony, no joke, to think about it. Which means, as long as between now and a crucial future point Tony doesn't screw up... His optimism dwindles somewhat. "He said he is thinking about marriage."

"For someone like him to mention that, you're right that is a big deal," Rhodey says seriously. Their previous conversation topic is forgotten. Yay. "But did he actually ask?"

"Nah." Tony drops back in the chair, his back up against the desk, staring up at the ceiling, hands on his stomach. There's really very little chance that Tony won't screw everything up given a long enough event horizon. Actually, now that he thinks about it, it's kind of unfair of Steve to put all this pressure on him. If Tony screws up (and face it, it's only a matter of _when_ ), he'll be wondering if it messes with their long term plans. If Steve wants to marry him _less_. If Tony assigns a percent probability to some eventual marriage event, then how much would he have to mess up before the chance is cut to less than half? This calculation is making Tony's head hurt.

Rhodey is silent for a moment. "But you want him to?"

"Huh?" Tony can't quite look at Rhodey, so he keeps staring straight up. "What would it matter? It's not like it would change anything if we did get married."

"Steve Stark does not have the same ring to it."

Tony rolls his eyes, even though the name sends a bolt of heat through his body. "We'd keep our own names; it's simpler that way. Plus we already live together. It'd be the same thing, basically." He would not ask Steve to sign any prenup, not just because Steve is the least material person he knows, but because Tony honestly wants him to have whatever he wants. If they really did jump in with both feet, money is the last thing Tony wants to think about. Which really means that almost nothing at all would change from the way things are now. That's mildly terrifying.

"Not that you've given it any thought," Rhodey says pointedly.

"The whole idea is stupid. We don't need some paper to prove we're together. It's a choice that we make every day." He and Steve have a routine. Steve's things are in their room, his toiletries in the bathroom they share. They talk about team stuff, and future plans, and funny or embarrassing memories together. (Dear God. How is it different from married?)

"And the way you two fight, if you ever had to get a divorce, that'd be the end of the world right there."

"Y-yeah." 

"Tones?" Rhodey says.

He takes a few calming breaths. 

"Silver lining: we both know what we're getting into." He tries to hold back the hysterical giggle, but it slips out. Certainly hard to miss just how badly things could go between them, but didn't it say something hopeful that out of that wreckage they've been able to rebuild, better and stronger. Together. All the fighting, all the hurt, it had brought them here and he can't say he is sorry as he got Steve out of the deal. It's selfish, but Tony knows that even if it ends badly, he wouldn't trade his time with Steve for a careful, safe existence without him.

"And _that's_ your ringing vote for this idea of the century?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Look, there's no easy way to say it, but you and Steve have a history. Someone always gets hurt."

Tony winces and his eyes jump involuntarily to Rhodey's knees. The mechanical prosthesis is entirely invisible under the clothes, but Tony knows better than most how you can feel that cold artificial attachment to your body every second of every day.

"I didn't mean me," Rhodey says, staring at him very intensely.

"Then what?" Tony frowns. Okay, so Steve and him have a bit of an issue with the passion of their viewpoints, where occasionally they don't see the forest for the trees. And if Steve escalates, Tony escalates. They both know that, they can guard against it if it comes to that, can't they?

"I'm just saying that, as much as I admire the guy, Steve can be a bit uncompromising. He's a control freak. Sure you want to put that ball and chain around your neck?"

Now Tony is irritated. It's one thing for Rhodey to worry about the impact on the team, but it's entirely different to suggest that Steve is somehow not good enough for Tony. For months now, Tony's felt like Steve is one of the best things that's ever happened to him. Their relationship has been going so well, exceptionally well. And if they do hit a rough patch later, Tony is willing to work on it, to get better at it, for Steve. Because he knows one thing and that is that he cares for Steve more than he ever thought possible, and wants him by his side, no matter what.

"The truth is, I'm better with him than I am without."

"Well, shit," Rhodey says. 

Tony very nearly giggles again.

"You are really _that_ into him." Rhodey's tone is one of bafflement and Tony glances at him as if to say, what? It's _Steve_. Who better?

His look must convey some of his feelings because Rhodey's nose scrunches up a little, like he smelled something sour, but after a moment he just sighs and rolls his eyes. "Okay," he says.

"Okay?"

"Yeah. _Okay_. You want this." He is so obviously setting his reservations aside that Tony feels like he owes it to Rhodey to be completely honest.

"I want this," Tony repeats quietly.  


 

* * *

 

Late that evening, Tony goes back to their bedroom to change and take a shower, and stumbles over Steve's running shoes left next to the bathroom door. Inside the bathroom, he covers his nose against the smell of woolen black socks thrown haphazardly at the porcelain sink. He wishes this was an isolated incident. It's not. He adjusts that morning's assessment to " _almost_ perfect". 

"Slob," he mutters, gingerly lifting the socks with the tips of his fingers and throwing them into a nearby trash can. Steve can buy another pair.

Some time later, after the shower, he finds Steve in bed waiting for him. Tony kneels on the bed in front of him, meeting his eyes. Steve's large hands come up to cover his hips, holding him for a long moment of silent communication. Something's changed since last night. 

He looks down at Steve, spread out naked before him. Someday, he could call this man his husband. 

Wordless, Tony sinks down on top of him. It is a long while before they give any thought to sleep, or think at all.

After the sex Steve always drops off almost immediately. He rolls over and is out like the light; Tony envies him that. He has never had an easy time falling asleep. He grabs his phone and plays around with it for a long while, going over his speech for the board next morning.

An hour passes. Tony feels incredibly tired but even if he lies there with his eyes shut, sleep wouldn't come. Even the pleasant aching feeling through his body from their earlier lovemaking can't seem to overcome the fluttering whirlwind of his thoughts. Cold, even with the covers lying over him, Tony sits up against the pillows.

Next to him, on the other side of the bed, Steve is asleep.

Tony looks at him for some time. He isn't memorizing his features, exactly: he feels like he knows Steve's face like the back of his hand by this point. It's so familiar and dear to him that sometimes Tony can't remember a time when he didn't know Steve, when Captain America was just a poster on the wall, some legendary hero his father never shut up about. Steve's face has lost its earlier flush, he looks deeply asleep and the thick blond eyelashes dusting his cheeks flutter minutely as he dreams.

After some time of drinking in the sight of him, Tony carefully pulls his legs over the edge of the bed, quietly slipping out. He is shrugging into one of his black shirts on top of the thin t-shirt he sleeps in, as soundlessly as he can, when he hears Steve stir behind him. Super soldiers with super senses, he thinks regretfully.

Turning, Tony sees Steve open his eyes with sleepy confusion, from where he is sprawled across the pillows.

"Go back to sleep," Tony whispers.

"Are you coming to bed?" Steve mumbles back, clearly not entirely awake and stretching a hand out across Tony's side of the bed, seeking him out.

Tony walks over and takes his fingers for a moment, squeezing them briefly before letting go, resisting the tug on his heart. "I'll be back in a bit," he tells Steve softly and turns away, feeling a yawn coming on just from the sight of Steve blinking up at him sleepily from their bed. Tony runs a hand through his hair to straighten it out and then rubs his eyes to clear the remaining cobwebs of sleep. He is ready to invent, design, work, he just needs to stumble down to the workshop and sit down. Technology never fails to keep him awake.

"Tony," Steve sighs behind him, definitely sounding more awake now. "Can't sleep?"

His chance to slip away quietly is past. Tony shuts his eyes for a second before opening them and turning. He finds Steve already sitting up, propping himself up with a hand, the blankets pooling low in his lap. Steve's hair is a wild mess. He is wearing red sleep shorts and nothing else, as always, and with an ache in his heart Tony registers the profound normalcy of this scene. Steve, in his bed, the way he belongs, is not a surprising sight.

He swallows against the feeling. "It's fine. I'll go down to the workshop, and work."

"Is it the video?" Steve cuts straight to the chase, rolling out of bed. "Nightmares, or...?"

Tony shakes his head. He rubs the back of his neck, not sure how he would explain this one to Steve.

"Actually, it's not bad that the video is out there," he says, waving a hand. Steve doesn't look like he believes him, so Tony has to put into words what he is feeling. He owes it to Steve, even though it never comes easy. "It's not fun to see it again but... This way everyone knows the truth, what really happened." 

Tony has to glance away from the penetrating look in Steve's blue eyes, suddenly awake and focused on him with remarkable intensity. It is too late at night for this kind of a talk, but apparently they are doing it. Tony doesn't want to stop. 

"After the accident, I never really looked into what happened. I was eighteen. I could barely deal with the idea. I knew there'd been a crash and Dad was behind the wheel. I didn't try to find out more than that. I _told_ myself I didn't blame him, not really, but there was always a part of me that...I always wondered if he'd had something to drink before he got behind the wheel. If that's why mom died..."

He realizes Steve came over and is standing next to him when his large hands land on the sides of Tony's arms, but rather than startling him it gives him a sense of safety. Steve just holds him above the elbow, the warmth from his palms spreading all the way up and down Tony's arms. Suddenly, he isn't so cold anymore. He glances back at Steve at the blue eyes staring at him sorrowfully. Steve's lips are pressed together into a thin line.

"Knowing for certain that he didn't wrap that car around a tree because he'd been drinking was actually...nice. It helps. I don't know why." Tony can't look away from Steve's face now, from the deep understanding he sees there. It's like Steve knows better than him why it feels that way, even though it made Tony so incredibly angry when he first found out. Tony isn't always sure why certain things happen the way they do as far as his emotions are concerned; feelings don't always seem to follow a logical progression that he expects from his thoughts. And Steve gets him so painfully well. Sometimes. 

"So if the rest of the world knows the truth...maybe anyone else who'd secretly thought the same about Howard knows better now. It's a part of my parents' legacy." The thought is bittersweet.

Steve rubs his arms, as though sensing that warmth is returning to Tony's body. Tony sighs into the comforting feeling, it doesn't make it easier to remain on his feet. Tries again, "Really, you should go back to bed. I'm fine."

"You are always fine," Steve says with a frown. "You look tired."

That stings a little. Not everyone has a super-soldier serum making them look fresh as a daisy regardless of the hours they keep. Tony gives a wry smile. "You're gonna have to get used to this insomnia thing. Some nights I just won't be able to sleep."

"What if I don't want to get used to it?" Steve says softly, still rubbing his arms.

Tony jerks in his hold. "Separate bedrooms are still an option―"

" _Tony_ ," Steve shakes his head, his voice sharp with what sounds like rebuke, although Tony doesn't know what he has done wrong this time. "I don't care if you wake me up every single night. I can handle _that_." Steve leans in and places a soft kiss on his unresponsive lips. "I want to help."

"I don't want you to _handle_ it," Tony says, not without frustration. 'Handling it' sounds too much like _handling Tony_ , and even if he knows he is _not easy_ to be around, it still chafes. "I am going to work for a while. Got a board meeting tomorrow. You are standing in the way of progress." He gives a crooked smile.

"Progress is going to have to take a backseat," Steve shoots back. His eyes scan Tony's face; whatever he is looking for, he seems to come to a decision. His face relaxes a little, and the look turns sly. "What if I tire you out?"

Tony's eyes drop down, it's practically Pavlovian. "Oh," he slides his own hands around Steve's waist, aligning their hips. "That's a very generous offer..." They kiss, like magnets gravitating towards each other. After the kiss ends, when they're still wrapped up in each other, hands gripping and caressing, Tony mumbles, "Might be fun." The thought of the workshop isn't pulling at him as strongly as the idea of getting wrapped up in Steve for a while, in their warm bed.

"I am glad you feel that way about gym."

Tony tilts his head back to look at Steve. "Are you kidding?" Sparing? He knows Steve is a health-nut, but it's way past midnight and he had a rather different kind of exertion in mind.

After a moment of holding a straight face, the humour sparkles in Steve's eyes again. Bastard.

"Very funny," Tony grouches. This deserves payback. "Sure you're up for it? Near as I remember, a few hours ago you were a quivering heap of _gosh, I can't move_ , " his voice caresses the words, feeling Steve's hold on him tighten. 

Steve's cheeks are radiating heat. It's adorable. "Tony."

"That's not the name you used earlier, either. What was it?" His breath catches as Steve's mouth slides to his neck, lips sweeping over the skin there, teeth scraping gently so as not to leave a mark. "Was it _ohgodTony_?" 

Remembering those moments brings back another memory, pressing _loveyou_ , _loveyou_ into the damp skin of Steve's back. Tony's eyes slide shut and he tilts his head to give better access as Steve mouths sweetly at the crook of his neck. His hips stutter and rock against Steve.

Instead of answering, Steve walks them to the bed and pushes him down onto the mattresses.

 

* * *

 

Tony sleeps through the morning phone-call with Pepper. In fact, he is still not entirely awake by the time he shuffles into the common room in search of nourishment before heading to the office around seven.

He is greeted by an unexpected sight. "Do you just hop on the jet every time one of us sneezes?"

"Hello to you too," Clint says from the couch.

"How's the farm?"

"Heavenly. Barnes has organized a boot camp for my kids. I escaped before I was forcibly recruited."

Tony blinks. "You let him train your runts?" Barnes lying low has involved a semi-voluntary vacation at Laura and Clint's idyllic paradise. Terrifyingly, the man seemed to enjoy the simple life, after years on the run. Who knew how long that would last. Worse, Natasha has started spending more and more time there "to help" in the last couple of weeks, and Tony really doesn't want to think about that development.

"They are peeing themselves from happiness at having," ― Clint's voice raises an octave in false excitement at the title ― "a _Real Life Soldier_ , show them the ropes." He slumps.

Tony blinks again. "Your kids know you worked for SHIELD right?"

Clint throws up his hands. "Apparently, that doesn't count!"

"Ok-ay then." Tony doesn't have much more to say to that. For all his dissembling, Clint could have escaped to parts unknown and nobody would be the wiser, but the fact that he is here at the Avengers Tower means he is checking up on them. It's weird for him to worry about Tony; Clint and he aren't that close, not like Clint and Steve. In the time they spent on the lam, the two have managed to form a bond deeper than respect, more like true friendship. But then Steve has that with every one of them ― the lynch-pin that holds them all together. It is only right.

His worry that Clint will have something to say about the video going public is for naught; thankfully, the man seems mostly interested in the sandwich on his plate. Tony goes for coffee.

Steve went running as usual in the morning, some dedication and force of will ― or stubborn martyrdom, as Tony likes to think of it ― preventing him from abandoning the routine. When he and Sam slink back from the run later, having already showered, Steve is noticeably flagging compared to his typical inexhaustible supply of energy. Tony might be used to working with a couple of hours of sleep per night, but Steve only manages to look sweetly pathetic with his stifled yawn as he slides onto the high-chair by the kitchen counter.

"If my keeping you up is gonna affect your day―" Tony tries again, and gets a sigh from Steve.

"I told you last night how I felt about that."

"Oh, please, spare us the contents of your torrid sex life," Clint groans from the couch. 

Both Steve and Tony turn to blink at him, and eventually Tony cracks a smile in Steve's direction. Steve shrugs, and they don't correct Clint. Besides, he is not wrong. The fact that the sex happened as a consequence of his being already awake has no bearing on the other fact that their sex life is, indeed, torrid. Tony is quite proud of that. Considering all the baggage Tony brings into the relationship, it's nice to think Steve gets something fun out of it, too.

"I was gonna say you have nobody but yourself to blame," Tony finishes. "Don't expect preferential treatment." He slides a cup of tea he happened to be making across the table in Steve's direction.

"Of course not." A smile tugs at Steve's mouth as he wraps his hands around the hot cup.

He sips it quietly. He didn't look surprised to see Clint, so they must have encountered one another at some point earlier in the morning, whenever Clint got here. Steve's just sitting in the chair, seemingly absorbed in his drink, eyes distant. He has been really out of it all morning, and Tony wonders if they hadn't gone a little too far last night, gotten a little overboard with words said in the heat of the moment. He can't exactly remember everything that came out of his mouth when Steve was fucking him, unbelievably, mercilessly steady. But he remembers something along the lines of reiterating that Tony was his, only his, always.

Okay, then. 

He sets the coffee cup down. Luckily, he has a board meeting to escape too. It's a nine to five event, and Steve knew about it ahead of time, he won't take it personally if Tony just. Yeah.

"I'm heading out." It comes out glibly. Steve could say something, for example ask him to stay, as unrealistic as that is, but Steve just nods understanding over his tea.

"Seriously?" Clint says from the couch, and gives Steve this indecipherable look.

Tony glances between them, catches a little sigh from Steve and decides he deeply doesn't need to know if these two pals discuss anything related to their relationship. He knows Steve talks to Sam, which is probably a good thing for Steve to be doing. And he has some kind of a secret language with Barnes, which Tony definitely doesn't think about if he can help it. But if Clint's also in on the secret handshake, that's different. Sam and Barnes are Steve's the way Rhodey and Pepper are Tony's, but Clint should have learned not to take sides. 

He just can't handle dealing with this today. Tony shoots Clint a warning look, before pressing a quick kiss to Steve's cheek and making a dignified exit.


	3. Chapter 3

 

When aliens fail to invade, Tony can't get out of doing his other job. 

Minimal comments are made about the weekend bombshell news when Tony joins the rest of the board members for the meeting on Monday morning. Tony can see the wondering (pitying) looks but they slide off him like water off goose. He has put a lot of effort into his faultless appearance that morning. He looks good. Polished. _Invincible._

His proposal for new acquisitions (two small local startups with software patents that would round off Stark Industries' portfolio nicely) is met with open minds. His summary of the vision for R&D in the coming months receives a bit more scrutiny as he goes through the presentation. Pepper's encouraging face gets him through it, reminds him this is important; she is the one who always champions his ideas for the board when it's something a little riskier than a new phone design. When it's something like SI cooperating with Wakanda on building a new energy grid in Africa.

There's less technical detail than Tony would have liked to include, but then he always wants to discuss the interesting bits and only Pepper's careful couching ensures he ends up communicating the strategic direction for their R&D division rather than treating the board as his chance to show off research advancements. Thus his presentation has more graphs and pie-charts than he knows what to do with, but it's good. They are focused on the job, not on his personal life, just how Tony likes them. He doesn't like them very much at all, and they don't like him, but they are all on the same page about their symbiotic relationship. They need each other.

"That's different from before," one of the men says with a frown at one of the bullet lists, while the others hmm and haw. Somebody's paying attention.

"Yeah. I'm altering that design, pray I don't alter it any further."

Across the table, Pepper gives him this _look_. Tony uses all of his willpower to continue looking blandly serious without letting the corner of his mouth curve up.

An interminable number of minutes later, they disperse for a fifteen minute break and Tony retreats into his office to regroup. He has a threatening headache ― simple stress, nothing unusual ― and as always when left on his own it occurs to him how easy it would be to call his armor to him and just leave. Go anywhere. _Take a shower._ He'd done his part, shown off his ideas and gotten approval on majority of the critical points. He'd been _responsible_. They didn't rubber stamp it either, he'd gotten some interesting comments. It's good to see the board engaged because as much as he hates attending these meetings, the day they agree on everything just to get out of the room is the day their company starts to die. That doesn't change the fact that these things aren't _fun_ , not the way working on tech is fun for him. The next couple of hours after the break requires listening to super detailed presentations and exhaustive financial reports by other members designed to get the rest up to speed. Tony swallows down some water from a convenient water bottle on his desk and stares at his phone in thought.

"Hey," Steve says after a couple of rings, "What's up?"

It's convenient openings like these that occasionally end with Tony in compromising situations, but a quickie on the phone is not what he wants right now. He wants to spread Steve out on their bed and take his time. Later tonight.

"Is there any catastrophe that requires my immediate attention?" he drawls. "Because I can be there in five." He is mostly joking, although the temptation to put on the suit and _go_ is buzzing under his skin.

He can hear the smile in Steve's voice as he answers. "Unless you count the usual crisis of who gets to be on which team, no."

"Ah, right. Your kids." 

Steve volunteers at a pitch in Brooklyn in the summer, officiating weekly middle-schoolers' baseball games. He is remarkably good at ensuring there are no disputes about the referee calls, the word of Captain America and the eagle-eyed sight of the super soldier safeguarding fair play. At least that's how the GQ article put it when they did a center-piece on _Captain Rogers: The All-American Hero's Life Outside of the Avengers_ , about a month ago. The picture they used for the cover had been very flattering; Tony saved that issue. He also fucked the All-American Hero through the mattresses that night, but that was just between the two of them.

"Am I distracting you?" he asks.

"Always," Steve answers warmly. "It's fine. They are batting around."

"Sounds exhausting," Tony says without any idea what it means, despite Steve's repeated attempts to couch him on the rules of baseball. He rotates in his chair, listening to the distant shrieks of middle schoolers on the other end.

"Did you need something?" Steve says, and there's a moment of distraction in his voice before he calls out some kind of directions to whoever's on the pitching field with him.

"Just want to hear the sound of your voice, darlin'," Tony flirts.

There's a smile in Steve's voice, "How's the meeting going?"

"The current diagnosis is that the head of R&D is still _compos mentis_ , which is Latin for 'not gone off the deep end'."

"He is a character that one," Steve says, "You best keep an eye on him."

"I'd rather you kept your eyes on him if it's all the same," Tony says. "How's later tonight?" It pops out before he even knows that's the reason he called. He'll be dead on his feet, sure, but if just hearing Steve's voice is enough to reduce his headache in half, imagine what being in his physical presence would do for Tony's mental well-being. His board should write Steve checks for his service to the company, they really should. Idly, Tony wonders if he could get that past Pepper.

"Clint's organizing some kind of a get together at five," Steve informs him. "At Erv's. Just us and a few of his old buddies from SHIELD, nothing formal."

"And he didn't invite me," Tony says with mock disappointment. He'd been thinking something a little more intimate, but fair enough, Steve's already made plans.

"You're always welcome to join us if your meeting ends on time." There's a thread of doubt in Steve's voice.

He is not going to be free till at least seven because he has to run things by Pepper before she flies out to Japan tomorrow morning. "I'll see what I can do." He glances at the watch. Three minutes. Time enough to flirt a little more.

"Did they make you wear a cute uniform for the game?" he says. He could use that mental image for later.

"I thought my regular uniform is cute enough."

"Touché," Tony says, smiling despite himself. He has been over every inch of that uniform both professionally and... not. He designed some of the inner lining, guaranteed to protect Steve's lovely soft skin from any harm.

"Speaking of, would you stop throwing out my socks?" Steve says non sequitur, the slightest edge of annoyance in his voice. "I looked for them all morning."

"Only if you stop leaving them by the sink."

" _Tony._ "

" _Steve._ "

"I leave them there so I don't forget to wash them!"

"Well, I don't want to feel like I'm living in Motel 69, so you'll have to figure out another system."

Steve grumbles across the line.

Tony tilts his head back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling imagining he can see Steve's griping face. He smiles. "Did you say: sorry honey, I'll do better next time?"

"Something like that," Steve sounds like he is speaking through clenched teeth. He switches topics: "Good luck with the rest of the meeting. Don't work too hard, alright?"

Tony hmms. He looks at the stack of papers in front of him. He won't even have time for lunch.

There's a momentary silence on the line as the conversation draws to a close, they're both waiting to see if one of them says it. Tony doesn't _need_ Steve to say the words casually, but it's only fair to give him the opportunity to do so once in a while.

"Right, yeah, I gotta go," Steve speaks quickly. "It's the next inning."

"Yeah, go. Love you."

Steve makes a choked off noise on the other end before they both hang up. 

Tony huffs at the phone in his hand, but his mood's unshakably buoyant today.

He thinks about the possible future stretched out ahead of him: putting up with Steve's dirty socks and his stubbornness, signing off with a 'love you' (and occasionally hearing it back, when Steve's not too embarrassed to say it, not in public). Missing Steve after a few hours without his company. 

It's not a bad way to live.  


 

* * *

 

"About the PR-nightmare," Pepper starts after the day is done and they are alone in her office. That damn video.

Tony is perching on the edge of her desk ― she hates that, but he hates sitting in the low chair across from her more ― and fiddling with his phone. No missed calls. He waves a dismissive hand, "I'll sit down with a journal, whatever, they can do a cover story; it won't be an issue. Or rather it will be an issue. A journal issue."

"Okay, but they're going to ask―"

"How I feel about it? Not thrilled. But the truth shall set you free and all that? Like I told Steve, it's better than some of the theories that have been circulating about what really happened that night."

When he glances up from his phone, Pepper is studying him with narrowed eyes, as if she is trying to read his mind. Tony forces himself to stare guilelessly back. He is so grateful that she can't.

"You seem remarkably level-headed about this," she says.

Tony rolls his shoulders. Yes, he still has adrenaline course through him at every reminder about the video, but it's getting easier to keep calm. It's like he is getting better, taking healthier emotional turns. It's like his life is making sense to him, the road that he has to walk is clear. He knows what he wants, and it's _not_ to think about how a small-time bad guy gets his rocks off at their expense. He wants so much more now. The future expands with possibilities and he likes the odds.

"Don't worry about a thing, Pep, I've got this covered. You just run my multi-billion dollar company and do... whatever it is you do with your free time. Which I'm certain is time well spent."

"Okay," Pepper says after another moment of shrewd consideration. She must believe him because she lifts her tablet. "Come around and look at these files―"

They spend the next hour going over the pitch she'll be making in Japan the next day. It's seven by the time Pepper leans back on her leather high-chair and stretches out her long legs under the desk, working out the stiffness. "I'm going to keep going, but you don't need to stay." She says it with a certain magnanimity, like she is letting him off the hook somehow. "I'm sure you're expected."

"Hmm?" 

Pepper rises an eyebrow.

Tony looks back at her, confused.

After a moment, she briefly shuts her eyes before reopening them with a steely look. "Sometimes I forget how―Nevermind." She presses her lips together. "You know what the date is?"

"June 4th," he answers automatically. Then he checks the date on the phone, because of the pitying look she is now giving him. He is right. It's not her birthday, he doesn't think. It's not Steve's birthday either, he's pretty sure. "What?"

She lifts one immaculately plucked eyebrow and says, more kindly than she's spoken to him all day. "Peggy Carter died two years ago today?"

Tony jerks up and off the table, running a hand through his hair. Shit. Steve.

He'd been downcast and morose that morning and Tony had thought it was because he hadn't been getting enough sleep. But it wasn't. 

Pepper leans forward and catches Tony's arm at the elbow. "It's been working for you, this thing you have," she says quietly. "Don't mess it up."

"I won't. I won't," he says, nodding, backing away and letting her hand slip off his suit. "I gotta go."

He doesn't know what he is going to do. Steve's having drinks with Clint and some SHIELD buddies? At Erv's? Yes, Tony can find the bar easily enough.

He turns back to her at the door. "Thanks, Pepper."

She just nods and turns back to her work.

Tony calls his armored suit to him, stored in the briefcase he is never without. He doesn't remember the take off, his mind is racing. Selfishness is not a new trait for him, but it doesn't mean the depths of thoughtlessness he has plunged to can't still take his own breath away. He has been taking and taking from Steve, leeching his warmth like a parasite and never even asking Steve if _he_ was alright, or trying to find out what Steve's needs were. 

But that was gonna change, right now.

He streaks across the evening sky. There's still a few hours 'till sunset. It's minutes until he is at the doors to the bar, the soft rock music pouring out into the street through the doorway. He steps out of the suit, its metal frames parting and sliding away as he strides forward, before locking up behind him. "Wait for me," he commands and heads inside.

It's a low-key, old-fashioned affair with wooden tables and counter-tops, and wine glasses hanging high over the counter. It's crowded enough that there's a buzz of activity around the room, but not so much that it's stifling. He tries to see it with the eyes of someone born at the start of the previous century and it seems to fit. Heads turn at his entrance, Tony can see he is recognized, but after a moment people turn back to their own conversations again. Gotta love New York. Tony spots Clint's flashy purple vest on the opposite end, in a booth, but no Steve. No other former SHIELD agents either, who are probably home with their families by now. Tony weaves his way around the tables taking care not to brush against other people.

It's unclear if he has been noticed until he slides into the booth opposite Clint and the man doesn't even blink. Tony feels as though his seat is still warm from another person's body heat.

"Look what the cat's dragged in," Clint says with only the tiniest slurring of his voice. He gives Tony the stink eye. "You're late."

"I'm a busy man. Where's Steve?" Tony chooses to ignore the spectacular failure at casual he was going for with that and stares at Clint expectantly.

"Restroom," Clint points with a thumb over his shoulder. There's a dark hallway turning behind the corner with a sign. After a moment studying him, Clint motions towards the bar on their side, a tiny barely noticeable jerk of the chin, "Those girls have been flirting with us all evening." Tony turns to look, eyes critically appraising the female clientele. Long legs, delicate clothing, lush lips. Young. The sort of girls he would have seen in a very different light at another time in his life. Clint snaps his fingers between them and Tony turns. "You're lucky I kept him company."

As if Steve would _ever_. The idea is ridiculous. But the thought that Steve might have sat here, cold and weary in this wooden booth, with all the memories and nobody to hold onto isn't so easily dismissed. It twists his insides.

"You randomly show up―" A thought occurs to Tony. "It wasn't random." And not about him.

"Nooo," Clint drawls. "Last year this time Steve was like a ghost. I promised him, if he doesn't have better plans next year, I'll be there."

"Trust me: he has better plans," Tony says.

"What's that?" Clint grins at him.

"I could answer that honestly―" Tony starts. Clint's misapprehension that all that Steve and Tony do while they're alone is screw each other silly is hilarious; Tony does his best to encourage it. 

Instantly, Clint grimaces. "No thanks." He folds his hands on the table and he is suddenly dead serious, looking up at Tony from beneath his brow. He leans forward and Tony finds himself wanting to lean forward as well, like they're sharing a secret. "Look. He'll say he's alright and he's moved on, and that's true, but he still wants to talk about her. So let him talk."

"I can do that."

Clint looks about the bar with obvious disappointment across his features. "I thought this was a good idea 'cause he said he used to go to places like this on anniversaries and the like, but he's just sadder now."

Leaving wouldn't be a problem for Tony: too many people, much too close. There's a group of college-aged friends sitting right behind him, and their raucous laughter carries, carefree. 

Steve walks out of the restroom looking unfairly attractive in a blue sweater that highlights his eyes; they light up when he spots Tony at their table, with something like warm surprise.

"You made it," Steve says, borrowing a chair from the nearby table to drag it between the two of them. This is the moment where there's a space for a kiss, but as it is Steve just sits and folds his arms on the table. "Did the meeting go well?"

Tony shrugs a negligent shoulder. "I got the Board's okay. Wakanda's scientists are visiting next week to hammer out some of the details."

Steve radiates approval; Tony basks.

Clint orders them a pitcher and Tony has a chance to unload a few choice words he hasn't been able to say all day in front of the Board of Directors, about an embargo SI is dealing with, which Tony knows is just some push-back and political posturing because he is a part of the company wanting to do business, and he is also an Avenger. Can't have that, can we! Steve looks sympathetic and Clint refrains for mentioning anything about making his bed and lying in it, which he definitely would have two years ago.

At that moment a girl peels away from the group of friends and approaches their table, moving with the grace of a jungle cat in her high-heels and dark burgundy dress hugging an hourglass-shaped figure.

"Hi," she says. "How are you doing?" And her dark brown eyes go straight to Steve.

"Doing okay," Steve says. "How are you?"

"Night is looking up. I'm Mandy."

"Steve." He turns politely to introduce the rest of them. "Tony. Clint." It's adorable that he thinks he has to do that.

"I know," she says with a smile that has no edge to it, just a straightforward cheerfulness. She has a heart-shaped face and a slightly impish look in her large eyes. "So, I hope you like honesty because I knew I'd regret it if I didn't come over and ask. Would you like to have a drink with me, and maybe see where it takes us?"

"I'm with someone," Steve says, not unkindly.

"Oh," a single shapely eyebrow rises at the news. A moment later she regroups, smiling with a flirty air, and there's no doubt of her meaning when she says, "Wanna call her, maybe she's up for spicing things up a little?" She winks. She is _so young_. There was a time when Tony had been similarly fearless, when he had nothing to lose.

Steve's lips twitch and he glances at Tony, a barely noticeable side-glance. This is where Tony could look down to play with his phone and Steve would fib her off with a non-committal answer, but instead Tony drawls, "Sweetheart, just don't."

Steve's smile grows pleased. He looks back at the woman. "He says no."

"Oh. _Oh!_ " She glances between them. "Wow." There's a startled smile that almost turns into a giggle, before she says, "Good for you, then," and bows out of the game. "It was nice to meet you Steve."

"Likewise."

On the way back to her friends she throws a curious glance over her shoulder, a mix of surprise and amusement. There'll be a lot of such looks in their future, Tony guesses, since apparently they are taking the next step.

"So this is, like, normal for you?" Clint grouses with an envious look Steve's way, "Girls like that throwing themselves at you?"

"Hey, aren't you married?" Tony points out with a smirk.

"Doesn't mean I want to be invisible," Clint sighs, then shakes his head. He downs the rest of his drink in one gulp and slams it on the table. "Okay, I think I've reached that point in my evening where a conjugal visit sounds good. You crazy kids have fun."

Tony gives him a wave, half-way to a salute, if he could only be bothered. 

Steve says warmly, "Thanks, Clint. Don't be a stranger, alright? Always a place for you at the Tower." Tony tries to contain a shiver. There's something about Steve comfortably extending these invitations to their home that sends electricity up his spine; he likes it.

Clint looks between the two of them. "Next time I visit, I might bring entourage if that's fine."

"Peachy," Tony says too quickly, and tries to fill the empty space with more words, "Steve can drag Barnes to see the Mets."

"I thought you liked baseball," Steve says, with a slightly jutted out lower lip.

"I don't _dis_ like it?" Tony offers, hoping to save himself. 

"Ha!" Clint barks out with a laugh before he leaves them to it. Tony can tell without looking that Steve's frowning at his side. Clint weaves around the tables, heading back to his wife.

"You know, they say married people have more sex," Tony says while they watch Clint's retreating back.

"So you _have_ been thinking about it!"

"I've been thinking about _something_ , alright." With a rakish grin, Tony catches Steve's eyes. Steve smirks. 

Then he looks suddenly intense. Tony worries for a brief moment until Steve says, earnestly, "If you just watch a couple more games, you'll get used to the rules and I'm _sure_ you'll enjoy it." 

_Oh God, the baseball._ Steve's like a bulldog with a bone.

"I'd enjoy it a hell of a lot more in our bed, on a wide-screen TV, without the rest of the people there." Tony's mind skips from idea to idea for a second and he says, in what he hopes counts as casual tone, "You know, we could make a tradition of it. One of us picks what we'll watch and we could do it, on, say, anniversaries or something."

Steve stills a little, then he sighs. His fingers fiddle with a paper napkin, wrinkling it. "I thought you didn't realize."

"To be fair, Pepper remembered before I did," Tony admits. "I'm not exactly great at this stuff, I know that. I forget, I get distracted. I miss things. Like today. I don't do anniversaries in general. I'll never remember your birthday."

"It's the forth of July."

Tony thinks about it. "Okay, bad example. But I― I get distracted..."

"Yeah," Steve's smiling for some reason. "Kind of one of the things I love about you." 

What? "What?" 

Steve doesn't even glance around to see if anyone overhead him, he is looking only at Tony. "That you've got so much stuff going on, all at once, all of it important and needing your attention right away. When you choose to spend time with me, makes me feel like that's important, too." 

Tony swallows. "You _are_ important," He can't ever express how much. "I wish I could show it more. You shouldn't have to say, about Peggy. I know what she meant to you."

"I thought it would be awkward to talk about the past. I didn't want to remind you about those times. Especially not recently," he gives Tony a significant look. He means that damn video again, coming between them, an ugly, vulgar cleft. But it's also only a tape, thin and insubstantial in the face of fresh memories, and Steve is right next to him, his warm and steady light, the North star that guides Tony's thoughts. Give him a lever, and he would move the world for Steve. He would _invent_ a lever.

"Her grave-site is in London," Tony says, pulling out his phone. He is momentarily distracted by the screen, so when Steve's hand covers his he looks up in surprise.

"Don't charter us a plane," Steve says.

Tony's protest that he wasn't ― you don't charter a quinjet, because you have the foresight to own it ― dies on his lips at the look on Steve's face, his overly bright eyes. Tony knows suddenly what it's costing him to refuse, even as the flash of naked longing on Steve's face is thoroughly shuttered, his jaw ― stoically set. Steve is so very careful never to bleed his needs on anyone.

"Transatlantic flights are probably rough outside the Iron Man suit," Tony mentions somewhat furtively. In his head, he is suddenly back to the configuration of a suit of armor he could build for Steve. All new propulsion system so that Steve could visit Peggy in her resting place whenever he wanted.

"I'll make the trip to visit her next time I'm in Europe." 

Tony studies Steve as though he can physically examine that stubborn streak of his, looking for any cracks or weaknesses. Seeing none, he kicks back in his chair, nearly cracking his head against the high back-seat. "What's the point of dating a billionaire if you can't even make a little trip for an anniversary?" _Why won't you let me do this for you_ , he doesn't ask.

Then he fidgets a little under Steve's long stare. After looking inscrutable for too long a moment, Steve seems to snap to a decision.

"Come on," he says, laying a hand on the table, palm up. Tony glances at the hand, up at his face, and back to his hand again before he slowly puts his own fingers in Steve's, making Steve smile a little as he pulls Tony up out of his seat, towards the exit. Steve says definitively, "I know what we need to do."

Steve doesn't let go of his fingers as they walk out the bar together. Tony is conscious of every look burning into their backs, but it only makes him glad. Steve is with him.

He refuses to let Tony in on his plan, or to tell him the destination so Tony could fly them there in his suit, still waiting patiently outside the bar. So they end up strolling through the streets of Brooklyn together, until Tony is shivering slightly in his business attire, unsuitable for the evening's chill. 

The shiver must make it down his arm because Steve shoots him a little concerned glance and then rubs his cold fingers with the pad of his thumb. "It's not far," he promises. 

Tony cottons on to his plan when they come up to the doors of a small white-stone little church tucked in between the newer buildings. He isn't sure if he is shivering from the cold or nerves anymore.

He kind of has a feeling he knows what Steve wants to do inside as they walk up the steps into the heavy wooden doorway of the church. This needs to be dealt with sensitivity and tact, which means that Tony can't help himself:

"I don't even have a ring yet."

Steve's eyes attempt to roll out of their sockets and he tugs Tony inside. He has picked up the eye-rolls from Tony in the past year, and Tony wants to warn him he is going to hurt himself if he keeps that up. Meanwhile he lets Steve bring him inside the church. There's nobody around to pay attention to them, which is a relief. The decor is a little worn and very cheap, but when they make their way to a side-altar in the bay of the nave there are hundreds of tiny lit candles by the wall. 

Steve finds a few bills in his jeans' back-pocket and drops it into a donation jar, picking up a candle from a box-full and lighting the wick off of one of the lit candles. Then he stares at the flame long enough for Tony to start watching the wax melting at the tip while attempting to contain a nervous twitch. There's a part of him that wants to subtly yank his hand out of Steve's hold, but he knows that part of himself well, knows not to trust it. He curls his fingers against Steve's seeking to encourage. 

Steve's shoulders tense momentarily as though he is steeling himself, and he sets the candle down into an empty spot on the wrought-iron candle holder.

"Peggy," he says, with a note of finality. Tony holds utterly still. Steve draws in a little distressed breath of air. "I miss you."

He keeps speaking, pushing the words out in that rough voice that rakes through Tony's insides. "I try to follow your advice, try to live my life. And do the right thing when I can, even if it feels as if―" he suddenly squeezes Tony's fingers, and turns to look at their joined hands, lifting them up as if inspecting them carefully, "―sometimes there are only a few things you can be sure of." 

Tony doesn't dare say a word, and Steve slowly lowers their hands to the side again, looking back towards the burning candle. Even though his voice is still drawn, he is smiling. "So I'm alright. Got a future to look forward to, and people to help me figure it out. Rest easy, Peggy."

Steve stands and looks at the candles for some time. Tony figures it isn't much different than what he himself does with B.A.R.F. and Steve seems to get comfort from it, anyway.

A bit of a noise from outside, like multiple people oohing and ahhing, break their silent reverie and they both twist around a column to look. Some kind of a commotion is happening outside the main doors of the church.

"That would be Iron Man," Tony says after a moment. "The armor is set to follow us at a discrete distance, and I think it gathered an audience. Sorry. I can―" He goes for his watch, but Steve shakes his head.

"Let's go home," he says. "I'm― I want to go home."

Before they leave, in his head, Tony says a few words of his own to Peggy Carter, who was an amazing woman in every way. No matter what his thoughts on the afterlife, those are promises he is intending to keep.

The group of people surprised by the presence of a suit of armor on the steps of a church move aside when they pass through and the armor unlocks, taking Tony in and sliding around him as a comforting, solid weight. He leaves the faceplate up until he pulls Steve to him and takes off into the sky. The cell-phone cameras follow them into the sky but the speed means they are gone from view relatively soon and nobody sees Steve briefly press his forehead to Iron Man's metal shoulder.

Tony sets them down gently on the rooftop, letting Steve out of his arms. The Manhattan skyline is a glorious view from here, but he's only got eyes for Steve. Unlike Tony, Steve never wants to be alone when he gets morose, he just thinks he's bad company and tries to keep out of everyone's way. He tries to keep himself busy. Sometimes he starts cleaning their room, or polishing his shield for hours, or worse, writing reports to the unreceptive UN Panel about the latest Avenger activity ― that stuff is guaranteed to make you want to huddle under a blanket in short order.

Tony steps out of the suit of armor, heading for the common areas and expecting Steve to join him. "Let's go downstairs and scrounge up some food, then shower..." Being a genius, he'll certainly find a way to take Steve's mind off things before the evening is done. 

As they step into the elevator, Tony directs Friday to have a fresh pot of coffee brewing for when they arrive, and turns one hundred percent of his attention to Steve. Who just happens to be looking at him with the softest expression on his face, hands reaching for Tony. Their lips meet as if designed for it; Steve's mouth tastes of beer, the wet slide of his full lips intoxicating on their own. Tony's eyes slide shut involuntarily as he sinks into one of the hottest kisses of his life. That they can still kiss like this after so many months together, when the novelty's worn off, never fails to amaze him.

Steve kisses him like he is dying of thirst and Tony is water. His fingers are in Tony's hair, Tony's go around his waist to keep them pressed up against one another for long moments while the elevator travels down to the common floors of the Tower.

They have to part reluctantly when the doors slide open, and to their surprise a pair of familiar green eyes meet theirs from the sofa. Natasha watches their arms slide from around each other as they separate, follows them with the turn of her head as they come around the sofa's front only to see―

"Is that a cast?" Tony looks at the leg stretched out in front of her, foot on the coffee table. It is definitely a cast, wrapped around the ankle, with her bare toes peeking out, painted red, of course.

"Twisted my ankle climbing," she explains in familiar reserved tones.

Climbing what? And for whom? A mission from the newly returned Nick Fury? Natasha comes and goes wherever she is needed, but she is always there when the Avengers call, so there is never a conflict. The Avengers Tower is a soft place to land for numerous superheroes, but the founding members of the team are a special case.

Steve rushes to get her more comfortable pillows from the nearby rooms. Tony leans against the opposing armchair and studies Nat. She wouldn't twist an ankle just to give Steve a reason to fuss, surely, but the results are handily apparent. Gone is the morose man at his side, broken out of his bad mood as soon as he saw another person's pain. Now that he has something to do and someone else to take care of, Steve forgets his own sadness.

"You're not in any kind of trouble, are you?" Tony asks the woman on the sofa, crossing his arms.

She shrugs a shoulder. "I do okay."

Her hair is dark again, and a curling strand falls into her face when she lowers her eyes. Natasha brushes it away quickly.

"You'd tell us if you weren't?" Tony insists.

Her lips quirk and her green eyes stare at him balefully from beneath thick black eyelashes.

Tony sighs and rolls his eyes. He uncrosses his arms and comes to sit next to her on the sofa. "Okay, Kettle." 

He realizes his hand is already lifting off his own accord, and after a moment's hesitation doesn't stop himself, brushing his fingers against the top half of Natasha's back. Not sure what expression is on his own face, he watches the play by play on Natasha's at the attempted comfort, something quietly stirred up and just as swiftly buried. 

Steve comes back with two fluffy pillows and helps Nat settle her ankle more comfortably. She smiles her gratitude at Steve more easily, but doesn't move away from Tony's careful hand.

"Impromptu movie night?" Steve asks with a quirk of his brow. His eyes linger on Tony longer as if asking if Tony is okay with postponing their evening plans, gaze traveling between the two of them when Tony nods slightly.

"What's new that's worth watching?" Tony says. He doesn't keep track of movie release dates since the only time he watches something is with the team, and he lets them pick. Less responsibility for him. "Friday?"

His A.I.'s voice echoes through the room as she offers suggestions. Steve brings drinks ― and Tony's fresh coffee and a croissant ― as he and Nat decide on one of the recent releases.

Steve settles on the other side of Natasha so the three of them take up the entire sofa, stretching one thick arm across the sofa's back to where it would just touch Tony's shoulder. He rubs the tips of his fingers against the material of Tony's jacket, and Tony briefly leans his shoulder into the warm touch. He wishes he could lean into Steve completely, with his entire body. He needs, wants that man like air.

But that's alright; they would still have the rest of their night once the movie ended.

They can spend the rest of their lives together.

Some kind of a space-comedy is starting to play on the large screen that descends from the ceiling, and Steve turns his head to read the titles.

When they are alone, later, Tony will tell him.

That he has thought about it. 

That nothing could make him happier.

The sexiest word in the English language.

Yes.  


 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from [Uncharted](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nU3Czw5w28g) by Sara Bareilles, a perfect Tony song. 
> 
> Thank you for reading. Feedback is loved!


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